


Moon Phantom

by Followingthestar, SilverWing15



Series: Hero 'Verse [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Light Dom/sub, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 02:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Followingthestar/pseuds/Followingthestar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15
Summary: Out of costume, Phantom looks like a perfectly normal woman, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, wearing a loose-fitting sweater over simple black leggings. Without the cape, she seems smaller even. Her face isn’t hidden behind the inscrutable mask and empty white eyes.Somehow, she still looks dangerous.Which is probably a good thing because the mask was never what made Phantom dangerous.





	Moon Phantom

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a while ago as a self-indulgent prompt fill which spun into a whole 'verse that FollowingtheStar and I are steadily building and adding to. 
> 
> Small disclaimer: there's a lot of D/s undertones and such but this is not really an advisable relationship roadmap. Real relationships should involve talks, negotiation, enthusiastic verbal consent etc. If I continue writing for this verse we'll probably get to that but for now I'm just using this as a playground. In general, please don’t kidnap people and hold them hostage without prior consent

**Snippets:** (stuff that I came up with during the planning stage that didn't make it into the actual story but I still like it so I'm slapping it up here)

….the place that exists between danger and safety. If she trusts, it could be the moment of weakness Phantom is waiting for, but to walk away completely would mean losing something that she cannot bear to name and cannot bear to let go of. Even if it ends up burning her hands.

Phantom's hand curls gently around her throat, pulse forgotten, Beatrice can feel the warmth of her fingers against her skin. Are they there to protect, or to cage? 

...Phantom’s voice is soft and deadly, like a blade wrapped in velvet.

Her head throbs in time with the beating of her heart. As the blood rushes through her veins, it finds its way to every ache and pain. She aches from head to toe, there are sharper pains in her shoulders and ankle. 

Opening her eyes seems like a titanic effort so she doesn’t bother with it. Instead, she focuses on what she hears. Fluid rushing, bubbles rising, a steady tapping from somewhere to her left. An intermittent whirr, high, then low. The chime of a computer, fingers against a keyboard. 

A hospital? 

A lab? 

Beatrice digs into her memories, she was definitely in a fight of some kind, but had she won or lost? 

Lost. her mind informs her. Thoroughly and completely. She remembers men streaming into her living room, flashing lights, barked orders. Darts filled with some kind of drug that had taken away her strength and her invisibility. 

She’d gotten out though, jumped from the fire escape, run into the night. 

She’d gone ...somewhere. The train? She can remember the vague impression of uncomfortable benches and the sound of the rails. Had the men found her there? 

No, she doesn’t think so. She remembers stumbling off, realizing that she was still in her mismatched socks instead of boots. Realizing that she was leaving a trail of bloody footprints as she went. 

But it wasn’t the men who found her, was it? She doesn’t remember seeing them again, but her memories are dim and vague. There is only one way to find out. 

Slowly, she cracks one eye open, barely enough to see through. The room is massive, even from what little of it she can see. 

There is a lot of lab equipment around, but the room lacks the stark, sterile atmosphere that Beatrice would expect from someone well equipped enough to send what amounted to a swat team after her. 

There are webs of string and photographs hung on the wall opposite where she lays. Newspaper headlines, blacked-out papers with _classified_ stamped over them in red ink. Beatrice stares at the faces in the photographs and realizes that she recognizes them.

People she’s worked with, people she’s fought against, people she’s only heard of through stories or the news. At the center is Adrian Minsk. It is only when she sees his face that she puts it all together. 

Someone has been keeping track of the Act. Or rather, someone else has been keeping track of it. 

Beatrice chooses not to acknowledge that whoever this is, their web is far more organized and detailed than her own. She’s pretty sure they’ve color-coded the strings. 

She props herself up on her elbows, her head spins and her arms ache. It is strange to feel her muscles strain with her own weight, unsettling in a way that makes her heart want to skip. It’s been years since she felt this weak. 

  
She winces and raises a hand to her head. Her fingers touch gauze and the wound beneath stings. 

No mask. 

For a second, she nearly panics, then she remembers. She’d hung up Luna’s mask in favor of her undercover persona. Even if she hadn’t, there wasn’t time to grab shoes much less gear up. 

Beatrice lowers herself back to the mattress. So much for her secret identity. 

She turns her head and finds herself staring into the blank white eyes of the Phantom. Her heart catches in her throat, and she freezes, hardly daring to breathe. It takes her too long to realize that the costume is empty, standing on a pedestal behind a glass wall. Phantom’s trailing cape is still, not caught in the impossible breeze that always surrounded her. 

Beatrice sits up and drops her feet to the cold floor. 

“Don’t,” says a too familiar voice. 

Out of costume, Phantom looks like a perfectly normal woman, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, wearing a loose-fitting sweater over simple black leggings. Without the cape, she seems smaller even. Her face isn’t hidden behind the inscrutable mask and empty white eyes. 

Somehow, she still looks dangerous. 

Which is probably a good thing because the mask was never what made Phantom dangerous. 

Beatrice staggers to her feet, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood when her legs nearly give out under her. Her mind whites out from the pain in her right ankle and the soles of her feet. She doesn’t let herself go down. She can’t afford to go down. 

Her powers are still gone, she’s injured and in the middle of one of Phantom’s hideouts. If she learned one thing over her career, it was that you never wanted to be in one of Phantom’s hideouts. 

She turns on one heel and limps as quickly as she can deeper into the room. She hears Phantom mutter a curse behind her and then the softer tap of her boots against the floor. 

Beatrice doesn’t get far, her head is spinning, everything is painful, and Phantom has always been faster than her. She slips at the first corner, gauze has no grip on the polished floors and Phantom is on her before she has a chance to try and scramble to her feet. 

For a confusing moment, there’s only the pounding of her heart, the frantic scramble of her limbs and the strength of Phantom’s hands around her wrists. Her head smacks against the concrete, her elbow hits the corner of something, a table or a machine. Her heart is beating too loud, too fast. Her thoughts can’t keep up with what’s happening. 

It's over embarrassingly quickly. Beatrice’s hands are crossed over her chest, held by one of Phantom’s hands. 

Before, she could have broken out of this hold without a thought. Now she can only kick futilely, trying to bend enough to unbalance Phantom. 

“Stop,” Phantom commands. 

Beatrice wants to spit something defiant at her, but she’s out of breath as it is and Phantom isn’t budging no matter how much she bucks and twists. Instead, she glares up at her, daring her to try something as though she could actually do something if Phantom decided to kill her now. 

Phantom hasn’t been one for murder in the past, that at least is a comfort. 

“I didn’t do all of that work for you to hurt yourself more,” Phantom says, something stern in her voice. “And I certainly didn’t do it so that I could hurt you myself. Calm down.” 

“I’ll show you calm,” Beatrice snarls and she tries to twist her body enough to kick Phantom in the head. 

“Luna,” Phantom presses her further into the concrete, “stop. It's not going to work.” 

A thrill of fear races down Beatrice’s spine. It isn’t going to work. She has no strength, no invisibility, no backup. She is completely at Phantom’s mercy. Her next breath comes out shaky and soft. 

As if sensing her understanding, Phantom loosens her grip. Not letting her go entirely, but not pinning her against the floor anymore. “Look,” Phantom says, “one of my contacts saw you wandering around, half dressed and half-conscious and brought you to me. That’s all. Whatever happened, it wasn’t me.” 

“How do I know that?” Beatrice asks, her voice is softer than she thinks it should be. Too close to scared. Weakness like that gets you killed in the superhero game. 

“You have my word,” Phantom answers, “you know I don’t lie.” 

“Unless you need to.” 

“This time I don’t need to, because I didn’t attack you. Or hire anyone else to attack you.” 

“Let me go then.” Beatrice tries to wrench her wrists out of Phantom’s grip. She doesn’t let go. 

“No.” 

Beatrice’s heart leaps into her throat, she surges against Phantom, but Phantom is prepared and pushes her back to the floor as if Beatrice were a paper blown by the wind. “What are you doing?” Beatrice snaps, straining against her. A few days ago, a few hours ago this wouldn’t have been possible. She hates this, hates being weak, being injured, being trapped here with Phantom, not knowing what she’ll do. 

“Luna, stop and think. Who has the most reason to attack you?” Phantom doesn’t give her a chance to answer, “Minsk is rounding up every superhero he can get his hands on. He knows your civilian identity, and he either already has your allies or he’s setting up to do the same to them as he did to you. Where are you going to go?” 

Beatrice opens her mouth and then shuts it. Phantom is right. She knows that she’s bad at undercover ops, and there are plenty of her former friends and allies that were--despite everything--swayed to Minsk’s side. Any one of them could have identified her, could have given her up. 

She can’t just wander the city until he finds her. Can’t risk exposing anyone else to attack by hiding with them. 

“I’ll fight him.” She says even though she knows it's absolutely stupid. The reason she was going undercover in the first place was that she couldn’t take him down on her own, and that was before she lost a fight to his goons. 

Phantom doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, only pins her with a look part stern and part sympathetic. “That’s exactly why I’m not letting you leave.” 

“I’m your prisoner then?” 

“Guest.” 

“A guest that can’t leave.” 

“Not yet. I’m not trying to keep you forever, Luna. You can’t even walk right now. Heal, and if you can think of a better plan by the time you’re better I won’t stop you from leaving. Alright?” Phantom slackens her grip as if to prove her good intentions. 

“Fine,” Beatrice snaps, looking away. “Now get off me.” 

Phantom obeys, but she stays hovering nearby as Beatrice sits up. The bed seems painfully far away, her feet are sore just thinking about it. Before she can try to stand though, Phantom’s hands are around her shoulders. 

Beatrice finches away at first, as though Phantom will suddenly turn on her now that she has her trust. 

“You’re not walking that far by yourself,” Phantom says, “you were close to a fractured ankle before all of this.” 

As much as it rankles her pride, Beatrice does have to lean on Phantom as she limps towards the bed. It's not really a bed so much as it is a mattress on the floor, and Beatrice privately suspects that Phantom sleeps on it when she spends too much time in the lab and can’t bother to go wherever her real bed is. 

Phantom doesn’t just dump her on the bed and go back to what she was doing like Beatrice was hoping she would though. Instead, she steps briefly away and returns with a first aid kit. At Beatrice’s look, she says “you reopened the stitches on your forehead. And your lip is bleeding.” 

Beatrice opens her mouth to argue but Phantom holds up a hand. “Even I don’t know what might be on these floors after all these years. I’m disinfecting it. And your feet.” 

She takes Beatrice’s scowl as permission and unwraps the bandage around her right ankle. Without support, Beatrice can feel how close she was to a fracture. She hisses a breath between her teeth. Phantom works fast, thankfully. As she’s re-wrapping the last bandage, Phantom asks, “when was the last time you had a tetanus shot?” 

“A couple of years ago,” Beatrice says vaguely because she doesn’t actually remember. 

“Hm,” Phantom says in a tone that means she doesn’t believe her at all. Beatrice ignores it, looking away so she can scowl at the wall. 

She nearly jumps out of her skin when Phantom’s hand wraps around her jaw and forces her head back around. Phantom doesn’t let her jerk away, her fingers tighten and Beatrice is suddenly aware of how close they are to her throat. 

This close, she can see flecks of gold in Phantom’s brown eyes. “Don’t move.” Phantom orders and peels away the bandage from Beatrice’s forehead. The adhesive catches a few hairs but Beatrice doesn’t let herself flinch. 

Phantom tilts her head to get better light, one hand absently resting on Beatrice’s shoulder, halfway holding her down, halfway holding herself up. From the corner of her eye, Beatrice can see her wince. She keeps one hand on Beatrice’s chin and gently probes the cut with the other. 

Reflexively, she hisses and jerks her head away, one hand grasping Phantom’s wrist. 

Phantom doesn’t let her go, “almost done.” The disinfectant stings, but true to her word, after that Phantom puts a new bandage over the wound and steps away. 

“Phantom--” 

“Olivia.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not wearing the mask, my name is Olivia, not Phantom.” 

Beatrice hesitates for a moment, taken aback. She supposes it doesn’t really matter, Phantom--Olivia--has been caught and arrested a few times. Her civilian identity isn’t exactly a secret at this point. “Olivia, why did you do all of this?” 

Olivia tilts her head and mask or not that gesture is all Phantom. “Because believe it or not, I hate Adrian Minsk just as much as you do, and I’m not about to let him get his hands on another hero.” 

Part of Beatrice wants to argue on the principle of the thing, but she knows for a fact that Phantom and Minsk have never once publicly worked together. Not exactly a declaration of a blood feud, but Phantom has always been quiet about her intentions and motivations. 

Slowly, Beatrice leans back against the pillows. Olivia rolls a desk chair over and sits with one knee crossed over the other, her elbows resting on the arms and fingers interlaced in front of her chest. “Ground rules,” she says, “you’re not walking unless it's absolutely necessary. If you need something, ask me. Don’t do the whole tragic hero thing. In this lab we’re practical.” 

Beatrice feels almost like she should be offended, but she has also witnessed Ultraman staggering across his apartment with only a line of stitches between his insides and the outside world. 

Olivia is looking at her like she knows her exact thought process. Beatrice chooses to ignore it. 

Olivia smiles faintly and turns the chair away. “I’ve got a tablet here if you’re bored,” she says, “I won’t be far.”

*** 

Living with a supervillain is a surprisingly...mundane experience. Olivia mostly keeps to herself outside of checking in or meals. She seems consumed with some sort of lab work in what Beatrice has mentally labeled the “biology” side of the lab. A quiet part of her is amused by the fact that the tiny living space seems to have been sorted into this section. 

Meals are the only time they really interact. Olivia is a surprisingly good cook, which is a strange thing to learn about someone who once threw Beatrice through a window. It's never anything complicated, but the food is less burnt than anything Beatrice makes. 

She just has a hard time remembering to take things out of the oven, is all. 

Meals are a mostly quiet affair, and between that and the distance Olivia puts between them, Beatrice almost wonders if she’s being given space, or if Olivia simply considers her obligation to spite Minsk fulfilled by taking Beatrice out from under him. Olivia does occasionally begin a conversation though and she seems enthusiastic when Beatrice tries to contribute. 

Breakfast and lunch are almost relaxing in a way, but dinner is poisoned by a quiet tension that Beatrice can’t bring herself to banish. After the dishes have been cleared, Olivia pulls out the large first aid kit and sets about checking Beatrice’s injuries and changing her bandages. 

Tonight is the third night of her ‘recovery’ and despite knowing what is coming, Beatrice can’t help but feel a thrill of surprise when Oliva pulls the first aid kit out from under the bed. 

It is one thing to eat beside your enemy, or even to talk to them in a casual way, it is another to sit quietly while their hands hover over easy weaknesses. Beatrice never wishes that her strength would return more than in these moments. 

Aside from these moments though, the only refuge Beatrice has from bored is the tablet that Olivia let her borrow. She doesn’t dare log into anything, partially out of a half hearted attempt to preserve her identity--Olivia still refers to her as ‘Luna’ rather than her real name but she’s sitting on Olivia’s bed with no mask, there’s a point where Beatrice has to acknowledge that her identity has been exposed.

Olivia isn’t the real threat though. Beatrice is sure that Minsk has all of her accounts monitored by now. Likely has had them monitored since she disappeared, any activity on any of them will alert him. 

Beatrice plays countless mind-numbing rounds of the default games on the tablet, fingers tapping anxiously at the edges as she does. The endless rows of tiles aren’t enough to distract her mind. 

She is pretty sure that Minsk won’t be able to find the files of evidence she has on him. The storage card was taped to the back of an old school ID in an empty purse. She had still been a bit thrilled with the thought of herself going undercover when she’d devised the hiding spot and hadn’t bothered to change it as time went by. She’s glad for it now, even though she’d felt like it was overkill sometimes. 

She only wishes that she’d also made a copy as backup. There’s little chance of her sneaking the card out now, even if she could walk. Even if she weren’t Phantom’s “guest”. As long as she’s missing, Minsk will have her apartment watched. Especially if he hasn’t found the data. 

She doesn’t have to worry about her allies--those that are left--she had gone undercover without telling anyone. Only made vague mentions of retiring and hanging up the mask. Besides, most of her allies can take care of themselves, even against Minsk. 

The ones she’s really worried about though are those who can’t defend themselves. Her grandparents run a rescue ranch across the state and now that Minsk knows her identity, he knows about them too. 

She closes out of the game, unable to control the worries any longer and opens the internet app. Her fingers hesitate over the keys. Minsk might have ignored them, assumed they were distant relatives and not worth his attention. 

She types the name of their town and searches for missing persons. They aren’t listed. 

Its only been three days, though. She doesn’t know how often they get visitors to the ranch. Even if someone was trying to drop off an animal, would they know enough about the ranch to know that her grandparents should be there? 

It could be weeks before anyone noticed them missing. 

Beatrice opens a new tab and pulls up the ranch website. Her eyes flick over the home page, finger hovering over the bold “contact us” icon. 

The front page is rarely updated, adoptions and other such things were changed, obviously, but the front page of their website had been the same since Beatrice was in high school. 

Today, it has a bold red banner across it: _ “Thank you to our new benefactor, Adrian Minsk.” _

She touches it and the link brings up an article from the local paper. 

** _Philanthropist Adrian Minsk Opens New Doors for Abused Animals _ **

There is a picture of Minsk with a friendly arm around her grandmother’s shoulders, giving her grandfather a firm shake of the hand, smiling out of the tablet’s screen. 

_ He has them. _ They may not even know that they’re hostages, but Beatrice knows. Minsk has always known how to work the press to his advantage. 

Beatrice tries to read the article, but her hands are shaking and her eyes are blurred with tears. 

“--na? Luna?” The tablet slips out of her fingers and Beatrice stares at her knees. There are too many thoughts spinning through her head. Her grandparents are in danger. The whole _town _might be in danger, Minsk has never cared for collateral damage in the past, why start now?

She imagines the streets she grew up on, eerily empty, buildings hollow. Her grandparents’ ranch, where she’d grown up, silent and abandoned. The animals dead, her grandparents missing forever. 

If Minsk wanted someone to disappear, they were simply gone. There wouldn’t even be an investigation. The local police will simply declare them missing, perhaps tell people that they’d probably wandered out into the back fields and had some sort of accident. Or gone on vacation and simply never returned. 

Anyone who looked into their deaths would vanish too. No one could stand against Minsk, not when he wanted something. _ Or someone. _

Right now, he wants her, wants the evidence she has against him. 

The world shudders, rattling her teeth. Beatrice realizes that there are hands on her shoulders and she shakes herself out of her thoughts. Phantom is standing in front of her, too close, Beatrice jerks back. 

Olivia has the tablet in one hand, the other resting on Beatrice’s shoulder. “Luna, what’s going on?” 

“He has my family.” Beatrice croaks, her thoughts fall into order. She has to get them back, and the only way to get them out of Minsk’s hands is to turn herself in. That’s what he wants, that’s why he’s taken them. 

_ A deal._

She can almost imagine his voice, cool and smooth, like a snake, “_ I have something you want, you have something I want, I don’t see why we can’t work it out and walk away as friends.” _ His blinding billionaire smile, with too many teeth to be friendly. 

She only realizes that Olivia has left when she returns. The tablet is gone, but Beatrice doesn’t care, she already knows what she has to do. She stands despite the pain and tries to brush past Olivia. She doesn’t care about what the Phantom might do to her now. 

She should have though because as she passes, Olivia murmurs, “I’m sorry.” and something cold wraps around her wrist. 

Time slows down as Beatrice realizes a second too late what Olivia has done. She twists on her heel, shoving Olivia’s hands away, as though that will help now. Olivia makes a sharp gesture and tosses a square at the wall over the bed. 

The cuff on Beatrice’s wrist beeps cheerily and drags her wrist-first to the anchor. Her feet tangle in the discarded blankets and her shoulder slams into the wall, rattling her teeth. Beatrice pays no mind, she’s already prying at the cuff, at the anchor, trying to separate them somehow. 

Her heart is drumming in her ears, behind her eyes, all she can see is her grandparents with blank faces and bloody throats. Floating away, being buried, being burnt. Minsk has never lacked for a way to make people disappear. 

“He wants me!” Beatrice snarls, “I have to--” She cuts herself off, getting her feet under herself and straining against the cuff. Her fingers dig into her own skin as they slide off of the smooth metal. 

She misses Phantom coming up behind her until there is a hand pressing against the back of her neck, forcing her cheek to the wall. Another body caging hers against the wall. 

“You’ll do exactly what he wants?” Phantom asks, her voice is calm, controlled, infuriating. It isn’t _her_ family on the line. She has no say in this. “ _ Think _ Luna. If you turn yourself in, he won’t let them go. He’ll know exactly how to control you and he’s not going to give that up once he has you.” 

“I’m not letting him kill them!” Beatrice snarls, distantly, the logic makes sense. Minsk never holds to a bargain unless it benefits him. Even if he did let her grandparents go, there would always be a knife hovering at their throats, dependant on Beatrice’s good behavior. 

“You have no powers,” Phantom begins, “no backup, no _plan,_ no bargaining chips. If you do this, you’re playing right into his hands and you’ll never get out of it.” 

“They’re my family,” her voice sounds dangerously close to a sob. The fear and fury are burning themselves out, making way for the hopeless reality of the situation. 

“There’s nothing you can do,” Phantom says, her voice is painfully kind. Beatrice grits her teeth against it. 

“It would be worth it,” she says, clinging to the delusion that if she turned herself in, Minsk would let her grandparents go and never threaten them again. 

“It wouldn’t and you know it,” Phantom says. “He’d make you give up your data on him, all of that evidence would be lost. We have to think about this logically.” 

Beatrice slumps against the wall and Phantom’s fingers loosen on her neck, but they don’t leave. Beatrice turns to look at Phantom out of the corner of her eye, “we?” 

. 

“We,” Olivia says, her voice is steady and determined. “I told you, I hate Minsk just as much as you do, and I’m not letting him put another person in his pocket. Will you trust me?” 

For the chance to save her family, Beatrice had been willing to trust Adrian Minsk. Trusting Oliva is nothing next to that. She nods. 


End file.
